


You're the Gruber

by lilyevan



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe- Muggle, F/M, brooklyn 99 au, lawyer AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 16:32:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7515266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyevan/pseuds/lilyevan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Potter does not think with his dick. Okay, maybe he does. But honestly! How was he supposed to know he pulled a Jake Peralta and ended up sleeping with the enemy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're the Gruber

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in about two hours and it's not my best work, but please love me, I am trying.

This is how it starts.

Sirius says he was thinking with his dick, which he knows isn’t right because he doesn’t think with his dick. No, he’s James Potter. He thinks things through, it’s what he does. He’s got a law degree for fucks sake! Okay, so it’s environmental law which has turned out to be pretty fucking useless so far, but he took the bar and everything. He does not think with his dick.

Or maybe he does. Because she walks into Brogan’s and he feels his heart stuttering against his ribs and his stomach has dropped down into his feet and his lungs are shrinking and expanding far too much to be normal and he can’t fathom why his hands seem to shake and he wants to find a priest to exorcise the ghosts from his rattling skull because his mind is racing too quickly and- James blinks.

It’s about two weeks away from winter and she’s in a sundress of all things. A soft shade of blue, like cornflowers or robin's’ eggs, but not the sky, the sky is too common, too always there, too used for comparison when it came to pretty girls in sundresses. The dress swishes against her thighs, almost, _almost_ touching her knees, but not quite. It clings to her back and just down the curve of her ass (don’t stare at her ass, don’t stare at her ass, don’t stare at her ass), and he wants nothing more than to push the dress up over her white thighs to see where they lead. Her hair is a sunset of reds and oranges and barely brushes her bare, freckled shoulders, too wavy to be pin straight but to straight to be curly. But her eyes, violent and sharp and _green_.  

James swallows the lump in his throat, adam’s apple bobbing and he turns away, taking a long swig of his beer. Fuck. He tries to focus on something, anything else as she slides onto a barstool, three away. He can’t hear what she’s saying, only registering the soft, low hum of her voice. He looks at the dusty sign above the bartender’s head, how the letters spell out the name of the pub in hazing, nearly dim neon. How the bottles on the top shelf are covered in dust. How the pool table just barely in his line of sight isn’t in use, a hastily written sign taped to the green felt.

His leg is bouncing, long fingers drumming and drumming against the sticky countertop as he ticks off the seconds in his head. He’d never had any issue talking to pretty girls, to pretty women. But she isn’t pretty. She is sharp and the curve of her lips looks dangerous, like she could swallow him up, and fuck, she could eat him alive for all he cares. There isn’t anything pretty about the way she sips her drink, holding the bottle in slim, curled fingers, or how she flicks her hair back from her face with chipped nails. She’s too real to be just _pretty_.  

And yet, he surprises himself when he speaks, the words coming from his mouth were undoubtedly his, but he had no idea where the fuck they were coming from. “Isn’t it a bit chilly for a sundress?” James opens, throwing another glance in her direction before forcing his eyes away. He takes another swig of his drink, if only to prevent himself from saying something incredibly stupid.

The woman looks at him, hand going still around her drink, chin jutted out just enough, tilted up just enough. “Hardly any business of yours what I wear, don’t you think?” She comments before bringing her bottle to her perfect lips. He swallows.

“No! I mean- I didn’t mean it like that, I wondered if you were cold, I was just,” he fumbles before clamping his mouth shut and exhaling heavily through his nose. But oddly enough, she laughs and extends a slim hand in his direction, a hand which he gladly accepted.

“Lily.”

“James.”

After an internal wrestling match against himself, he moves to the stool next to hers, dragging his bottle along the dinged up counter top as he did so. She doesn’t appear to mind and so the tension seeps from his shoulders.

“My sister had a baby shower today. Insisted we all wear blue.” Her explanation comes after a stretch of silence, but he understands and he nods anyway. Lily keeps talking. “I kept trying to tell her, ‘Tuney, you don’t have to follow the stupid gendering of colors, your unborn baby won’t know, and it certainly won’t care if Linda wears green or if Susan wears yellow, or if god forbid someone wears pink,’ but she refused to listen, then she threw a fit, and then she started crying.” Lily frowns and finishes off her beer, setting it back onto the bar with a thud.

James would have been happy to listen to her talk all night, perfectly content to listen to the way her husky voice dipped and rose and danced. “I wish I could relate, but,” he points at himself, “only child. Well, sort of.” He still offers her an empathetic shrug and a small smile. This seems good enough for her.

Twenty minutes turns into two hours and two turns to three and then three to four and then the bar is closing and he’s pressing his lips to her collarbone and she’s curling her fingers into his hair and fucking _tugging_ and their stumbling through his flat around mountains of paperwork and files and he knows that he forgot to clean that week and that his sheets hadn’t been washed in months but she pushes the straps of her dress from her shoulders and his mind goes blank.

When the morning light starts filtering through the cheap curtains, soft and yellow as butter, she’s still lying next to him, asleep, eyelashes nearly brushing the tops of her cheeks, kiss swollen lips parted, his shirt loose on her soft curves. James pinches himself once, then once more, just to make sure he isn’t dreaming and that the bite marks on his neck are real.

He fumbles over to grab his glasses from the nightstand and shoves them onto his face, the world becoming that much clearer when he does so. And then there’s knocking, loud insistent knocking. _Fuck_. As gently as he can manage, he rolls out of bed and tugs on his discarded boxers before scowling his way into the living room.

“What,” the words have snapped off his lips before he even sees who’s on the other side. It’s Sirius and he doesn’t feel the least bit guilty for snapping. Sirius quirks a brow at his appearance, no doubt taking in the very obvious “just fucked” aura about him, and without asking, steps into his flat. Though, Sirius had stopped asking a long time before.

“I take it you got lucky, yeah?” He remarks, grinning conspiratorially at James as he saunters into the kitchen to raid the fridge, because he always raids James’ fridge because his best friend is a complete and utter _ass_.

James trails after him, huffing. “Yes, and I would prefer if you fucked off so I could get laid again.”

“Actually, I’ve got to go.”

James spins on his heel at the sound of Lily’s still sleep heavy voice and Jesus, he wishes she didn’t have to go. Standing there in just his shirt from the night before with her makeup just slightly smudged around her eyes, her perfect in-between hair mused. His heart skips a couple beats. Next to him, Sirius stiffens, hackles rising, his nails digging their way into James’ arm.

Scowling, he swats at Sirius’s hand and moves toward Lily and rests his hand on her lower back, guiding her back to his bedroom as he spoke. “I hope I’ll see you around then, yeah? I put my number in your phone…”

He comes back into the kitchen to a foot-tapping Sirius Black, a sour, motherly look of disapproval on his face. “I hope I’ll see you around then,” he repeats, taking his voice up an octave. “You fucking idiot. Do you know who that is?” He questions, keeping his voice in a not very quiet whisper. James frowns, shoulders shrugging as he reaches up to ruffle his hair. Sirius lets out a huff of a laugh. “No of course not, because you were thinking with your dick.”

James shoves Sirius lightly and glances back towards his bedroom. “Mate, would you calm the fuck down? Her name’s Lily, we met at Brogan’s after her sister’s baby shower,” he explains, not bothering to stage whisper. Sirius, the fucking drama queen.

“I know her name is Lily. Want to know her last name? It’s Evans. As in Lily Evans. As in the lawyer representing DeHority in the fucking Vane Water trial. You know, the one we have to be in court for. Tomorrow?” Sirius reaches out and slaps James upside the head. “Did you not think to fucking google the name?! Have you not seen _Brooklyn 99_? And don’t lie to me because I know you have. She’s _Sophia!”_ Sirius waves his hands in an agitated gesture. “Her sister’s baby shower my ass. You just got played-” He trails off into silence as Lily appears in entrance to the kitchen once more, wearing that beautiful fucking sundress, her hair tucked behind her ears.

She doesn’t move. “Glad to see you’re fighting the good fight, Black. God knows your family doesn’t need another scumbag lawyer, no offense,” Lily finally says. Sirius opens his mouth then closes it, lips drawn into a line, never one to stop anyone from insulting his family. She easily sidesteps a stack of files and presses a kiss to the corner of James’ mouth. “See you on Monday.” And with those as her parting words, she disappears from view.

James blinks owlishly behind his glasses, his mouth going dry. “I never thought I’d say this, but I don’t think I want to be Jake Peralta.” Sirius gives him another shove before stealing the carton of orange juice from his fridge and heading towards the door.

“Fucking Peralta!” He hollers as he slams the door shut behind him.

Fucking Peralta.

-

He isn’t staring at her from across the courtroom. That would be pathetic and that would be thinking with his dick (again) and James Potter does not think with his dick. She’s wearing some black and white dress, a sheath or slip dress or something like that, and it’s hugging against her hips and he knows he’s staring when Sirius elbows him in the side. His leg doesn’t stop bouncing the entire trial, his hands fiddling and fidgeting with his tie. And he knows that she knows that he’s staring, like she has some sort of sixth sense because whenever his eyes linger for more than a moment, she’s winking in his direction. He wants to ask the judge for a recess or to have her kicked off the case, but he can’t very well go whining to Judge McGonagall, asking her to kick Lily off because he can’t stop making heart eyes.

He’s painfully aware of the indigo bruises just under his collar. He loosens his tie and tries to focus on the jury. He and Sirius usually have no issue with shmoozing the jury, smiling, making them comfortable, making them like them. But James can’t focus on old women and men in stiff collared shirts, not when he knows what’s under Lily Evans’ dress and where to bite and suck so she gasps and clutches at his hair and-

“Mr. Potter, your closing statement?” James is stirred from his thoughts as McGonagall stares down at him, cat-eyed glasses perched on the edge of her nose, white collar perfectly crisp over her robes. It is apparently not the first time she’s asked. He clears his throat as he stands, shooting a helpless look over to Sirius who is pointedly ignoring him, the fucker.

“I, er, the defense rests, Your Honor,” he manages to sputter the words out before sitting down once more, seeming to deflate. Sirius snickers beside him. James stomps down on his foot, hoping he scuffs the stupid, imported leather too.

Judge McGonagall watches them before she sighs and bangs her gavel to dismiss the jury. As soon as everyone is dismissed, James is up out of his seat, long strides taking him quickly out the door and after Lily’s retreating figure.

He doesn’t have to stomp very far because she’s already leaning up against a pillar, waiting for him. James huffs and makes his way over, finger pointed accusingly. “You. You Peraltaed me! You’re Sophia,” he hisses out the words, gesticulating a bit wildly as he does so. Lily quirks a (perfect) brow, an amused little smile settling on her lips.

“I ‘Peraltaed’ you?” She repeats, the amusement rather evident on her face. He notices the necklace she’s wearing, chunky and heavy looking, tastefully covering a few of the more prominent marks he had left on her milk white skin. If he wasn’t angry on principle, he would be bristling with a sense of accomplishment, but he’s angry so he tries not to look at her neck. “You didn’t ask for my last name, James, or what I did for a living. And you’re not a cop,” she adds, brow furrowing.

He pauses, mouth opening and then closing. She understood the reference. “Still! You slept with me to mess me up today, didn’t you?” He accuses, pushing both of his hands through his hair as he tries and fails to not work himself up. He’s very worked up. She’s smart and funny and fit as hell and he’s already a fucking goner and she, she used-

“No, that was,” she seems to suppress a laugh, “that was all you. I didn’t even realize who you were until we were back at your place and I noticed all of your files. You really need to invest in a filing cabinet, James,” she responds, perfectly rational. And just like that, his puffed chest and sense of bravado and righteousness evaporates.

“So the baby shower…?”

“Actually happened, actually had to suffer through it,” Lily confirms with a nod of her head. He notices that she’s straightened her hair. It’s nice. James clears his throat and looks down at his shoes. “And you know, I’m only working this case for Slughorn, he asked and I need to stay in his good graces if I ever want to make partner, so it’s highly unlikely we ever have to see one another in court again.”

He looks up at her, a grin finding its way onto his face. “So, hypothetically, if you wanted to see me again, it wouldn’t be entirely unethical.”

Lily meets his grin with one of her own and fuck if his heart doesn’t start stuttering again at the brilliance of it. “Nope,” she pops the ‘p’ in the word before twisting her hand in his tie and tugging him forward for a brief kiss. “And that didn’t happen.”  
    He nods, and then nods again. “Right, never happened. Er, see you back in the courtroom, Evans,” James says, slowly, taking a step back.

“Of course, Potter,” she replies, flashing another quick grin as she brushes past him. James waits for her to go first (and it was entirely not to stare at her ass) before following her inside and taking his seat.

When he sits down, Sirius leans over to him, eyes narrowing at the sight of James’ dopey grin. “Please tell me you’re not thinking with your dick again. It was just a fling, mate, plenty of fish in the sea and all that.”

James shakes his head, trying very hard to not stare over at Lily. “Lily isn’t Sophia,” he finally says, “I think she's Amy.” 


End file.
